The Kill Artist

this man around the fires at night. He will be a great hero of the Palestinian people." Arafat lowered his voice. "But not if he does something foolish now. Then he will be remembered as just another fanatic."
    Arafat looked into Tariq's eyes and said calmly, "If you must do this thing, my brother, then do it and get it over with. If you have no stomach for it, then I suggest you leave here, and quickly, and find some way to end your life with dignity."
    Arafat lifted his chin slightly. Tariq lowered his gaze, smiled slightly, and slowly buttoned his coat. "I believe you've mistaken me for another man. Peace be with you, my brother."
    Tariq turned and walked out of the room.
    Arafat looked at the bodyguard and said, "Come in here and close the door, you idiot." Then he let out a long breath and tried to quiet his trembling hands.
    They entered the apartment, Gabriel and Jacqueline side by side, surrounded by the group of security men. The sudden appearance of five very agitated people sent a shock wave through the guests, and the party immediately fell silent. Gabriel had his hand inside his jacket, fingers wrapped around the butt of the Beretta. He looked quickly around the room; there were at least a half-dozen white-jacketed waiters moving through the crowd. He looked at Jacqueline. She shook her head.
    Douglas Cannon joined the group as they moved from the entrance hall to the large living room overlooking Fifth Avenue and the park. Three waiters were moving through the guests, passing out hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne. Two of the waiters were women. Jacqueline looked at the man. "Not him."
    At that moment she spotted a white-jacketed man disappear into the kitchen. She had seen him for just an instant, but she was certain of it. "Gabriel! There he is!"
    Gabriel looked at Cannon. "Where's Arafat?"
    "In my study using the telephone."
    "Where's the study?"
    "At the end of that hall!"
    Gabriel pushed his way past the guests and ran down the hallway. When he burst through the door, he found himself confronted by a bodyguard pointing a pistol directly at his chest. Arafat was seated calmly behind the desk. "I'm afraid he's come and gone," Arafat said. "I'm still here, however-no thanks to you."
    Gabriel turned and ran out of the room.
    Tariq walked quickly through the kitchen. There was a back door, leading onto a set of service stairs. He stepped out the door and quickly closed it. Several cases of champagne stood on the landing. He pushed the cases against the door. They were not heavy enough to block it completely, just heavy enough to slow down whoever was trying to get through, which was his intention. He walked down to the next landing, removed his Makarov, and waited.
    Gabriel charged into the kitchen, Beretta drawn, as the back door was closing. He sprinted across the room and tried to open it. The knob turned, but the door itself wouldn't move.
    Jacqueline came into the room on the run.
    Gabriel took a step back and then drove his shoulder into the door. It opened a few inches, and on the other side he could hear a loud thud, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
    He pushed the door again. This time it gave way, though there was still some resistance.
    He pushed again, and the door opened completely. Gabriel stepped onto the landing and looked down.
    Tariq stood on the landing below, feet apart, the Makarov in his outstretched hands.
    Gabriel saw the muzzle flashes in the dim light, felt the first bullet tearing into his chest. He thought how fitting it was that it should end like this. He had killed his first man in the stairwell of an apartment house, and now he would die the same way. There was a circular quality about it, like a good piece of music. He wondered if Tariq had planned it this way all along.
    He could hear Tariq running down the stairs. Then he saw Jacqueline's face leaning over him-Jacqueline's beautiful face. Then her face turned to water, only to be replaced by the face of the woman in the lost Van Dyck. And then he blacked out.
    As Gabriel slipped into unconsciousness, Jacqueline screamed, "Call an ambulance!" Then she stood and started running down the stairs.
    Above her she heard one of the security officers scream, "Stop!" She ignored him.
    She could hear the pounding of Tariq's feet echoing up the stairwell toward her. She reached into her pocket and removed the gun she had taken from the apartment in Brooklyn. She thought: I've done this twice today. I can do it